The Sun and the Moon
by Hold on hero
Summary: On the eve of the Promised Day, Greed convinces Ed to indulge in his desires. Oneshot. Edwin, manga-verse. A cocktail of citrus combined with some edwin feels.


hey all!

i rarely write fanfiction anymore, and i was up late so i thought i would type out a little something. i guess this could be considered my "first" sexy scene but i have gotten a bit steamy in my original works. regardless, here's some edwin because there is a distinct lack of it. please review and let me know if you enjoyed it!

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She's staring at him, her blue eyes filled with anger and determination which he has seen hundreds of times before, but usually it means that she's going to rip him a new one for harming her precious automail. This time, in the soft bedroom lighting, she looks less likely to hit him over the head with a wrench and far more likely to step closer to him, which heats up the room and makes his cheeks turn pink so he turns away from her to hide it. Just before his eyes leave hers he notices that he's taller than her, but he doesn't feel victorious so much as he feels _attractive_, and this leaves a very interesting tension between them.

"Winry," he begins while trying his best to keep his voice steady and at a normal volume, instead of the low and husky sound his throat is begging him to make, "you make it sound like it's easy."

This only seems to make her angrier and the tension flares like someone has poured a keg of gasoline onto an already raging flame. "This isn't the time to start doubting yourself, Ed!"

He's already walking away, his legs betraying the scratching of lust in his heart, and his racing mind scrounges for solutions to the current problem but _God_ her shirt is low and the lighting is dark and her hair smells like lilacs and grease. He closes his eyes in frustration so he doesn't have to see her like that, her body alluring, her scent crawling to him almost as if Pride is reaching out towards him in the darkness. He grips his coat and picks it up numbly and she yells, "Listen to me". Quickly, he blurts out something, a rush of faux anger and heatedness pushing it out of his esophagus.

" Winry, you just don't know when to shut up, do you?"

He knows before he's finished his sentence that what he's said was stupid but he's too stubborn and horny to give a shit, and she lets out a shocked and heated "_Edward!_" before he tries his best to stride confidently out of her bedroom. His booted feet lead him down the stairs and he's so caught up in his thoughts of regret at his last statement that he hardly notices Greed leading against the wall at the landing. And even though it's early, and he should let the others rest for at least an hour more, he just wants to shrug on his coat and leave Resembool far behind.

She's too god damned alluring. That's the word he's searching for. He couldn't place a finger on exactly when it started but he's been noticing the way her hair falls over her shoulders and chest a lot more than he used to, but he had been attributing it to her lack of trimming it. Her shirts seemed to contour her body in a way he didn't notice before. When they were in Briggs, her rose colored coat had clung so well to her figure, he had thought that she must have lost weight for him to notice such a drastic curve between her chest and her waist. Luckily, her legs weren't as noticeable in the outfit she had worn because he swore to himself over and over that if she had worn that mini skirt of hers he would have taken her into a military supply closet and had her to himself.

His recent urges had been surprising him, and he wasn't used to waking up having to relieve himself. He doubly wasn't used to thinking of _Winry_ to fill his head as he was doing so. He's lost in his thoughts when Greed speaks.

"She's lovely," he drawls. "Why didn't you tell me you had someone as pretty as her locked away?"

Ed ignores him. He's used to Greed leering at every female that walks by. The misogyny is almost worth the added power he's sure the homunculus can offer him.

Almost.

"You know, you humans have a way of ignoring what you want," he continues and Ed pauses. "Some people want power and don't climb the ranks. Some want wealth and don't work their way to it. And some want a woman and don't go after her when they should."

Ed catches what he's getting at. The Forbidden Fruit. But he's not so easily swayed. He holds up his right arm and the metal glints in the dim lighting. "This is what I got the last time I reached for the sun and my wax wings melted. I'm not about to do it again or risk someone else who I care about. I'm not like you."

"I'm just saying," Greed defends himself seriously. "Sometimes greed is a nasty thing, but it can also be good for you. Put simply, indulge while you can. Last night on Earth and all that."

Ed grits his teeth and looks away promptly. "She's not something to _indulge_ in."

Greed smirks. "When did I say she?"

He pushes himself off the wall and makes his way down the rest of the stairs, leaving Ed with a dumbfounded look on his face. He glances towards Winry's room, where the door has now closed, and he's sure she's been listening in on the conversation. His heightened senses can even hear her as she shuffles awkwardly to her desk, pretending to busy herself in her work and ignore what she's just heard, sure that he'll walk away and start his journey to Central.

But he doesn't.

He surprises himself, if only slightly, as he ascends to her room. He works out that he has about two hours before he has to force himself away. Part of him wishes for more time before he notes the irony in his avarice. This is enough. She, if only for seconds, is enough.

He opens her door without warning, and he sighs inwardly in relief as he notes she isn't crying. He knows that his words had been harsh to hear but he's also acutely aware of the fact that she knows he didn't mean to say them. At first, the look on her face is surprise, but quickly she covers it up and replaces it with a mask of discontent.

"What, you wanna come back and make another stupid comment?" she spits out starkly and stands with her hand placed as support on her desk, which is littered with automail parts. He just looks at her. He doesn't need to speak for her to understand. Slowly, _agonizingly_ slow, her face readjusts and they're simply staring at one another from across the room. The tension builds back up like the tides rising. The ebb and flow of their gazes intensifies and it feels like days when really it's only seconds. She doesn't dare to move.

In the end, she doesn't have to.

He bounds forward, perhaps less gracefully than he intended but that thought is lost to the heated ocean they've created, and grabs her hips before landing his mouth onto hers. At first, there's stiffness, but only for milliseconds because now she's reaching her hands up into his hair and undoing his tie and his golden threads pour over her fingers. His hands crawl up her sides, leaving chills and gooseflesh, and he wraps his arms around her to grip her lower back and hoist her up onto the desk.

It doesn't even occur to him that the door isn't closed, and neither notice as Greed shuts it for them, noticing with curiosity how Ed holds onto her as if she's his lifeline before his view is cut off.

His need for her overwhelms him and he's lost in the feel of her legs wrapped around him and her fingers running desperately through his hair. Ed's eyes, already closed, clench even tighter when she flicks her tongue with his and his body becomes impossibly hot. He backs away and regretfully takes his hands off her before reaching for the hem of his shirt and tearing it over his head, but it doesn't seem to make the room seem any less sweltering. He's consumed with her again. He pulls at her hair and nearly forces her onto the desk; she willingly goes.

Ed swipes away at stray parts and they clatter to the floor, but shockingly she doesn't seem to mind and pulls at the ties of her apron. It drops to the floor and he works on her shirt buttons as her trembling fingers start to search for the zip of his pants. Her fingers brush a bit lower on her first try, and he groans into her mouth and slams his pelvis unthinkingly into the desk. Vaguely, he regrets it when the pain shoots to his brain but he can't seem to work out why because now his body temperature is rising again because _fuck_ she's got his pants undone and is sliding them down his slim hips. He slips the last two buttons free and her baggy work shirt is flayed out to the side and her black undershirt appears underneath, showing off her toned waist and defined curves. Finally, he stops kissing her to admire the look on her face as he glides his mismatched hands underneath the black cotton. Her eyes are half lidded and determined. He's never seen her so undone but he loves every bit of it and drinks it in.

He smirks when he rips the undershirt down the center.

She stares. He tosses the fragments of cloth to the side and gazes into her eyes, trying to tell her with his mind that he'd love to tie her up and rip off the rest of her clothes, slowly, before ravishing her. She shivers and he finally glances down at her. Both of her nipples are hardening, and he attributes it to the swipe of his hands because he sure as hell knows it isn't cold in the room. Before continuing, he steps out of his pants and kicks off his boots. He stretches his back and her eyes roam over his muscles. They linger on a few scars, but she doesn't want to know. She wants them gone but at the same time she wants to trace them with her tongue. She wonders briefly if those white silhouettes would be sensitive.

He runs his metal finger between the valley of her breasts and doesn't change his heated expression as that finger deftly undoes her pants. His normal hand joins and together they work at shimmying them down her long legs, and he kneels when the fabric hits the ground. Briefly, he entertains himself with her creamy limbs, running his fingers lightly over her knee and enjoying the tremble she gives him in return. He can smell her. It smells nothing of lilacs. But it enraptures his senses all the same.

He puts his mouth softly on her over her panties, and suddenly everything is real. The clutch of her fingers in his hair, the feel of cloth beneath his lips, the fact that he's got her down to her underwear and isn't the least bit nervous. Perhaps they had grown up too fast. The things he had seen had begun to blind him to his awkwardness, combine with the situation of her being a hostage shocking her into reality. All this flies through his head as his fingers push her panties to the side and slip slowly down her slit.

Instantly, she arches. He's fascinated by her reactions. He dips in a metal finger and she twists around, biting her lip to keep from being too loud, which he finds a shame. As he coaxes her, his finger joined by a second, he supposes that he's found her kink: an automail hand pleasuring her over the edge. He smirks and realizes that it wouldn't have been any other way. His eyes trail back to his fingers at work, watching as she takes three of them in her now, wetness making the metal shine as it seeps out of her. He's entranced at the way her muscles contract, her clit quivers, her thighs clench. He removes his fingers but quickly replaces the loss with his tongue after he's pulled her panties down and off. She nearly shrieks in pleasure and he groans softly at the feel of her. Soft and warm and wet and godlike. It's ambrosia. If the people in Liore wanted to feel God's presence so badly they should have just met Winry Rockbell.

His tongue laps at her clit and experimentally dives into her, and this time she moans wantonly. He reaches further into her and her nails scratch at his neck. It all seems very naturally systematic, he observes; he acts, she reacts. He moves, she makes the songs of Heaven with her voice. Like a machine of nature. A perfect meld of metal and men.

He straightens up and stares down at her naked body which is so graciously presented to him. She's smooth and wet and ready and looking back at him with a fantastically heated look. He watches as her fingers hook onto his boxers and pull them down, revealing his length, and she lets her fingers run over it before she leans back against the desk. He entertains the idea of her continuing to tease him, but for now, all he wants is her encompassing him entirely.

He positions himself. Leaning down, he whispers into her ear. Words she had only prayed to hear and words that he had never thought to use.

"If you want me to stop, tell me," he speaks and his voice is low and rumbling like soft and distant thunder. "If you're uncomfortable, tell me. Tell me everything."

"I love you," she spits out. "That's all you need to hear."

He knows. Of course he knows. All the same, there's shock in his eyes as he adjusts to this information. Quickly he recovers and smiles down at her. "I love you, too."

And he enters her.

She tenses. He knows it's supposed to hurt her, so he waits for her signal to continue. But now he realizes that he's made her so ready for him that he's even simplified the act. She nods. He begins.

They fall into a rhythm of simplicity at first. The desk shakes as he softly goes in and out, in and out, in and out, and she feels herself getting impatient and more wanting by the second. He feels it too, although he doesn't want to scare her. But even that thought seems to be drowned out by the warmth she's providing him with. He feels like he's fallen into a pit of lava and can only feel the warmth and liquid without the pain. She growls and pushes him forcefully off her, and when he slides out of her he instantly feels a feral need to right the sudden loss. He bites his lip so hard it almost breaks skin, but he understands her actions instantly.

He grabs her hips and spins her around before bending her over the desk, and her throbbing sex almost painfully aches for him. Without caring he slams back into her and she lets out a groan they're both sure is heard by everyone in the town. Somehow, they like it that way.

Now, the systematic act of bonding has turned into a frenzy. Her nails scratch at the wood and his metal hand reaches down to rub incessantly at her clit. She quivers and convulses under him, his back muscles contracting to move into her as fast as possible. It's become less about heated passion and more about frantic need. His mind goes blank as he feels himself getting closer and god he wants to tear her apart and bite her neck and make her moans louder and she can't handle the heat and she feels like she's drowning in pleasure and a cold spark ignites inside of her before a flame encompasses her entire being and she cries out a semblance of his name when the flame spreads throughout her. He's panting. His sweaty chest sticks to her back. Her legs are void of bones and she almost collapses. He pulls out of her and they both gasp. She starts to breathe again.

She's only vaguely aware of him carrying her to her bed and they both tumble onto the crimson sheets. Exhausted, they pull the duvet over themselves and hold each other wordlessly. He feels a pang of guilt for not being able to stay through the night, but she understands and he knows that she does. That doesn't mean that either of them has to like it.

"I want this," Winry whispers after around twenty minutes of listening to their breathing slow. "I want you."

"I know," he murmurs as he strokes her hair. "I'm afraid they'll use you against me. But I needed you tonight. I hope that's okay."

She laughs breathlessly and Ed joins her. "It's more than okay. And if they use me, I'm just glad I had this with you."

He smiles to himself. "I thought I would have fumbled around you."

"Hm?"

"You're so beautiful and I was worried I wouldn't know what to do," he admits before letting out a single laugh. "Hell, it's amazing I can talk to you about it. Why am I not a blubbering mess like always?"

She giggles and he's reminded of bubbles. "You got it out of your system."

"We said we loved each other," he gasps suddenly. "I wanted to wait to say that! Damnit!"

But he doesn't regret saying it, especially when he rises and starts to dress. She joins him, confused, and when he rouses the others all she can do is follow. The afterglow consumes her. Before she knows it, they're standing outside and she's realizing that he's about to go. "You're leaving in the middle of the night?"

Some meaningless conversation follows, and they know that everyone heard them, but they still pretend it's their secret. After they part, they both glace at the moon.

He's still euphoric the whole way to the next town.


End file.
